


The Coming of Age

by Renee561



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Romance, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Regency Romance, Viscount!Crowley, priest!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/pseuds/Renee561
Summary: Anathema knows what coming of age means, balls, dancing, and the most important...finding a husband. However, there is another complication, within a year of her coming out, she must wed or risk to lose the small inheritance from her deceased father forever. Enter Newton Pulsifer, a member of a rival family and an arrogant man, in her opinion. With the help of a pining Viscount and a Priest, maybe, just maybe she can find love.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Newton Pulsifer, Sergeant Shadwell/ Madame Tracy (Good Omens) (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. A Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BarelyLegible created the amazing photo and I'm glad she did because it is beautiful! I hope you enjoy the fic!

[ ](https://ibb.co/2K9yjvB)

She ran her hands down the length of The Dress, and her gentle the newly added detailing in the delicate silk. Her mother and grandmother had painstakingly made additions to the delicate fabric for her coming out, even going so far as to hire over two hundred seamstresses to aid in their ministrations.

The Dress had been passed down from mother to daughter since 1645, from the time of her many-times-great-grandmother Agnes Nutter, a peasant in a poor village. It was the only finery Agnes owned when her only daughter, Anathema's great-grandmother, Virtue, had caught the eye of John Buchannan—a man that had the title but not the wealth. Together, Virtue and John built the family to what Anathema was born into, members of high society, with all the richness and influence that entailed. Portraits of the dress through the years allowed Anathema to go back in time to see what each owner did. One took the dress and made it her own. One such grandmother had placed an ornately large jewel at the neckline, and her daughter had it removed for some beads instead. Her mother had jewels sewn into the bodice to make the dress sparkle as she danced in the candlelight. 

Now, it was hers. 

While the skirt style was outdated, the detail to it as unique as the family fortune grew, each woman who had inherited the dress restyled for their coming of age ball. It served as not only as a reminder of where they came from, but also their hope of where they might be.

Hence the need for a large number of seamstresses. Anathema had to outline the design precisely to what she wanted, down to the last bead and thread.

She wanted her dress like the stars above, with as many constellations as she could recall. The most familiar ones needed to be present: Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, Ursa Major, and Minor were all seen year-round from her telescope in the observatory. Others, she placed especially over the bottom of the portion of her dress; Aquila, Hercules, Lyra, Scorpius, and Pegasus filled out the skirt.

The design took a year to complete with all the beads and jewels that would mark each constellation—just in time for the ball. 

Once more, she ran her hands down The Dress. It grounded her to the present and to the near future, maybe half an hour hence to the ball her mother and grandmother planned. The feel of the material against her skin settled her nerves. Anathema disliked such parties, especially as this season was to be her first. Her ball would predate the season by a fortnight, and then she would travel to London to be presented to the ton. 

Her mother predicted it wouldn't take her, but a few balls to have suitors calling and an engagement would soon follow. Anathema's parents had met at her mother’s fifth ball and had been engaged naught four months from the time she had started her season, so her mother was confident it would be the same for her. 

With a shake of her head, she examined herself in the looking glass once more. Her dress was perfect to the last detail, each jewel winking in the candlelight like the stars they represented. Her dark brown hair was extravagantly pinned and curled, with a lock of hair gently framing either side of her face.

The single emerald at her throat was the only jewelry she wore—like the dress; it was a family heirloom. Her great-grandmother Elizabeth, who had received it from her husband upon the birth of their son, had added the jewel to the tradition of passing down The Dress.

There was a knock at her door; she nodded at her reflection once more, turning on her heel and walked out of the safety of the room. The door snapped shut, and she felt her stomach sink as if suddenly weighed down with lead. There was no turning back now. Not until the last guest left. 

She walked the familiar halls of her home, her spine ramrod-straight, making her way to the stairs. The guests gathered in the garden, and she would have to greet them all before her night of seemingly unending dancing and socializing would begin. Her feet already hurt at the thought of all the dances she would have with the eligible gentlemen in attendance; as the belle of the ball, her dance card was sure to be filled.

Anathema needed a sponsor for the season, but she was sure her mother already had someone in mind, determined as she was to have Anathema married as soon as possible.

With a fortifying breath, Anathema made her way down the stairs gracefully, almost as if she were floating on air. She was the daughter of a baron, and she wound not embarrass her family by acting like the wild child she was in her youth. Now that she was of age, she had to think about the family first; the Device legacy had to live on, and her desire to remain unattached came second to anything that would preserve the family's image.  
\--  
Mr. Newton Pulsifer, of the London Agency for Legal and Other Services, was nonplussed that his mother ordered him to attend a ball for one of his clients again. He was not the sort of gentleman to get invited to these things, being a barrister, but his mother reminded him there would be severe consequences if they lost their goodwill with the Device family. Because of the family's closeness to the firm, their pull could ruin the business that had been created over the past century. Plus, she wanted him to find a wife; in her mind, Anathema Device was a perfect choice, for no one could do better than a Device.

The Devices and Pulsifers had a centuries-long standing rivalry, which started with the death of Agnes Nutter, the Device Matriarch, at the hands of his many-times-great-grandfather Thaddus "Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery" Pulsifer. Thaddus had accused the matriarch of being a witch to ensnarl her daughter a Baron, leading her to be charged, and found guilty by the village people. Newton didn’t believe that the woman was a witch, for there was no such thing as witchcraft, but he did believe that his great grandfather held the family with barely disguised envy and sought to destroy them by any means. Accusations of witchcraft in the late 1600s were guaranteed death sentences, especially towards women who were oddities as she was rumored to be. 

Since then, the accusation towards her has been a point of contention amongst the surviving Devices and Pulsifers, though they remained cordial with one another in society. The families kept tabs on one another, though they didn't tend to invite the other to many events since the Pulsifers had less than the Devices. Due to fortunate marriages, the Device Family rose their fortune and fame, while the Pulsifers made honest livings doing services to the common man. The business of theirs has been in their family for centuries, almost as long as their title. His ancestor Michael Pulsifer bargained for a title from one of his clients, and he got it through marriage, the man's youngest daughter, in fact. 

Until Richard Device -then Debois- came to his father, who had since passed, and used their legal services when he was a young man; the Pulsifers had little to no contact with them. When Richard married into the Device family, he had still continued to use their services until his death. The families interacted more, but still not friendly towards one another. 

After the man’s death, the firm still managed his will and his daughter's inheritance. Given the length of time of service and the fact that Newton now maintained the accounts of the firm after his father's passing two years prior, he knew the stakes that they could lose should the Device family no longer require their services. 

Thus, his title was the only reason he even attended any sort of social gathering. For without a prosperous marriage, the family and the business would become destitute. His mother would rather see him married off than wasting his life in the business that killed his father. His family owed a debt that Newton was paying out of his earnings each quarter. Hence his attendance tonight, his mother was hoping for a miracle, something that will not happen in this life or any life. He was not interested in marriage or Miss Device, and there would not be any interest from her either. He would rather be alone with his books or in the office getting some work finish. 

His mother demanded that he attend the Device Ball, and yet he was not looking to settle down. He was one year into working with the courts as a barrister. Even if he knew the business and the law better than most, he wasn’t ready to support a wife. Besides, he was not a charity case, and he rather not marry for convenience or for greed, as the money from a wealthy wife would help his family. He was not a man that used others for his gains. 

His eyes roamed the ballroom, trying to take in the atmosphere. The women and men dancing, men drinking and conversing with one another, ladies whispering behind their delicate fans. It was all the highlight of upper-class society. He would rather be enchanted with the works of Shakespeare than stand and mingle with the others at this event. That was when he spotted the red-haired man. The man was as tall as Newton, but he walked in such a way that it almost seemed as if he had hurt himself, which given the rumors surrounding him were to believe, his fall from this very cliff was quite possible he did break some of his bones. 

The rumor spoke of him attempting to end his life, and if not for a wave below, he would have died. The Viscount tells the tale of an angel saving him from a watery grave, Newton believes that the man was touched in the head. Angels didn’t save men who didn’t believe it. 

"Viscount Crowley, what a surprise to see you here. Tell me, did the matter settle with Lord and Lady Michaelson? Or shall you need our services further?" He questioned as the ginger came within conversing range, and he was not shouting like an unclothed savage. 

The Crowley account was an open retainer for legal services as the man before he was known for his misconduct that landed him in the courts much more than out of it. No true harm came of it, but by god did the man possess the tongue of a serpent. A whisper or deal to the wrong person and Newton was there to provide his services. It kept the business afloat, but sometimes Newton wished the man would cut out his tongue. 

The smirk coming from the older man, a bachelor for many years, was of the devious sort like he was, in fact, plotting Newton’s demise as he spoke, “I was surprised to see your name on the guest list, young Mr. Pulsifer. Have you had the honor of dancing with Miss Device?”

The man ignored his questions regarding the matter that had been brought to his attention a fortnight ago. He would do well not to get his hopes up with regards to the man before him, as well as mock him outright, “No, I have not, and I do believe her dance card is quite full this evening. I only attended to refrain from insulting the host and keep my mother from pestering me. Otherwise, I would not have attended. Have you found any woman to meet your ever high standards, or is it another season of bachelorhood?” 

He knew that the man would not ever marry; no woman would meet his impossible standards. He was rich enough that it should not matter. He could remain a bachelor, and no one would bat an eye. The Crowleys were an old family, and old families were the most respected. Newton didn’t know whether to envy the man or pity him. For it must be a lonely existence to be a lifelong bachelor. The man had handsome features, but alas, the man was eccentric, a mischievous man that should learn to curb his tongue. 

The man let his mouth curve towards a smile, “Well, let me make an introduction than, Mr. Pulsifer. I’m well acquainted with the Devices that an introduction ought to be made.”

The tight grip on his elbow didn’t give room for argument. He followed the sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw the elder Lady Device near the staircase. He was hoping to avoid the hostess for the evening.  
\--  
Madame Shadwell gazed about the room in awe and excitement. This has been the first festivities she has been able to attend since her dear husband had returned go duty in Wales last month. When he was home, there were other activities to attend between a Soldier and his wife. Especially as she had been with him on a short holiday in the South of France for the past season. 

She loved the attention of her husband, even if his talk of the war grew tiresome. She loved the man, a love that had never waned in the thirty-odd years they've been wed, and she was ever grateful that she got him back after the war. Being married to a Naval officer has led to a lonely life, but she has her hobbies and her acquaintances to keep her company. And not to mention the gossip of high society had its own merits. 

The hard work he has put in to become a Sergeant has increased their standing in society, even though many think them upstarts. Hard work never killed anyone, and she is grateful for her husband's continued determination and dedication to providing for them. He has spoken of retiring soon, and she will be grateful for the day when it comes. He is a dear man, and she missed him terribly. Of course, he must find himself a hobby, so he did not interfere with hers. 

She liked to do many things, including sponsoring young debutantes in their seasons. It did her old soul good to see many young couples find one another and end up in a suitable marriage. Her record was four in six, two fell to the wayside as one of the young men made the mistake of following the wrong skirt, and one accidentally fell from a horse to his death. Other than that, she has been successful, and the couples were quite happy.

Watching the couples dancing, she eyed her new debutante, the young Miss Device. She was awkward, though intelligence sparked in her dark eyes. Her manners were impeccable, and she had a fortune behind her name. Young men will be quick about bringing forth their intentions as a sizable fortune is a woman's most attractive attribute, although Miss Device's looks don't hurt her. Her black locks shone in the candlelight, her tan skin setting of the blue of her dress that sparkled as she twirled around the dancefloor with her current partner and her tall and lean frame made for a beautiful figurine. Delicate but strong, and oh so capable of much to bear on her shoulders. Yes, she will do fine at the ton. 

“Doesn't she look beautiful?” Lady Device asks her as another guest leaves to socialize. 

Many of the elite having introduced themselves to them, her close proximity to the hostess has garnered her more attention than she was comfortable. Being from a lower class at birth does not make her too comfortable with socializing with the upper crust of society, even though it has been many years since she started from the bottom. 

Amelia Device was one of her most cherished friends, and while the two came from different backgrounds, Amelia had always been one of her more successful stories. In fact, the woman and her husband had been her first successful pair. Richard was such a dear man, and she was saddened to hear of his passing just a few years into their marriage. 

“Reminds me of a young woman I presented to the ton not so long ago, my dear,” she said with a hint of teasing. She was young herself when she presented the woman next to her to the ton, newly wedded to Mr. Shadwell, a man with a promising career in the Navy, though he already had been a Lieutenant then. Amelia's mother had asked her to help present her child, and how could she refuse the woman that had presented her to her first ton? Now she was continuing the tradition of presenting the next Miss Device to London High Society. Had she had been blessed with a child of her own, she would have had Amelia do the same for her. Alas, that was not meant or her, therefore she made sure to be the one to present others. A hobby of hers that she didn’t mind in the least. 

“Madame, I’m not sure what you are referring to!” Amelia said in mock indignation, though the smile on her face contradicted the tone she attempted. 

She laughed heartily, eyeing the young woman bowing to her partner and headed back towards her mother. Yes, the young woman will do fine in London, Tracy would make sure of it. 

Out of the side of her eye, she noticed the approaching of two gentlemen she was not as well acquainted with, although she had heard much of both of them through the rumors surrounding them. The scandalous Viscount Crowley with the sharp tongue of a serpent, causing mischief and having a taste for the improper. Had she been years younger and the man slightly interested, she would have married him herself to save him from the disgrace of being a lifelong bachelor. As it happened, he was not interested in a match of any sort, and she was a happily married woman. 

The young man he had with him was another mystery. Tall in appearance, with his dark locks, mysterious eyes hidden behind round frames that rested on the edge of his nose. But the way he moved his limbs, stiffly, and he had no idea what to do with his hands, made her think of a baby gazelle, all limbs and no control over the — poor boy.

“Lady Device, may I introduce Mr. Pulsifer, of the London Pulsifers,” the Viscount introduced the young lad next to him, poor dear. The look of shock and awkwardness in his face made Tracy pity the boy. 

Amelia smiled ever gently, “Viscount Crowley, may I present my esteemed friend, Mrs. Shadwell, her husband is a Naval Officer and has graciously agreed to present my daughter at this season’s ton in London. In fact, here is my daughter now,” Amelia said as Anathema slowly approached the growing group.

Tracy looked at the young woman who looked much like a deer being caught by a marksmith. The Viscount looked at the woman with a charming smile, but he was uninterested in the introductions, though Mr. Pulsifer was keenly watching the approach of the young woman. 

She smelled a match in the making, she was sure of it. 

“Anathema, my dear, this is Viscount Crowley and his friend, Mr.Pulsifer,” her friend had stated in a tone she was all too familiar. She, too, noticed the keen awareness of the look from Mr. Pulsifer. 

The young woman looked at the two men and curtseyed with ease befitting her station, and practice, and said pleasantly, "Viscount Crowley and Mr. Pulsifer, a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I have looked for Sir Crosby whilst on the dance floor, there seems to be no sign of him." 

The men bowed at the waist, and the young Mr. Pulsifer, respectively, looked towards Amelia, speaking clearly, “It is a pleasure to meet everyone. However, I’m afraid I cannot stay much longer. I have to be getting back to London tonight. I want to thank you for an invitation to tonight’s ball, truly spectacular as all of your family’s events are, Lady Device.”

Oh, the boy was sharp, but not going to get away without a dance, she was sure. Therefore she looked towards Amelia with a look that spoke volumes, who responded with a smile, "Of course, Mr. Pulsifer. I wouldn't want to keep you from your business. However, since Sir Crosby is nowhere to be found and you must leave soon, a quick dance wouldn’t hurt any. Would it?"

The tone like honey, but the intention clear. Mr. Pulsifer struggled to speak of an excuse, the way his mouth opened as if to insist, Amelia only nodded her head towards the both of them. Begrudgingly both left to dance. 

Once the couple was far enough away, Amelia tisked under her breath. She patted the woman’s arm in comfort, Tracy thought they made a fine pair. 

\--  
Her maids, Elizabeth and Alana, were helping her from her dress as not to damage it further liked the material, and she was rather glad of her designs on the skirt. They had left her in her corset and underthings; shed the gloves she had worn herself. She was far from helpless, despite what Mr. Newton Pulsifer had thought. She frowned as she recalled the barely-there insult to her societal position, "a woman of your rank should marry above your station rather than below it, so a sir or baronet is out of the question. For he would gain a title of Baron, and would not do well for your inheritance to fall into the hands of a man with only one thing to gain from your marriage." 

She had been infuriated by his claims that a man would only gain her title as a result. She was an intelligent, interesting woman who rather liked the idea of marrying whomever she chose. It wasn't as if she believed a man to be superior or inferior to a woman and vice versa. Instead, she thought them to be of different strengths that marriage should contemplate these things — partners, a different means of gaining ends. 

She had curtly exclaimed the dance over, leaving to search for her maids to retire for the evening. Her mother would be none too pleased, but she was not entertaining any more men this evening. 

Newton Pulsifer was not a gentleman she hoped to ever hear from again. If she had to deal with him again, she would be sure to give him a sharp lashing with her tongue. It was more than he deserved, or she might not speak to him at all. Sometimes silence was the worst thing a man can gain from a woman. 

She will decide after some rest.  
\----  
Newton made sure to kick himself mentally as he watched the Young Baroness coldly depart from their dance. He was rather inept at speaking without putting one foot or both feet inside his mouth. His awkward nature prevented him from being as pleasant as his upper-class counterparts, the ones that come from families that could trace their lineage back to prominent figures of society. 

The only infamous relative of his was Thou-Shalt-Not-Adultery Pulsifer. The stupid man had burned Agnes Nutter at the stake and has caused the rift between their two families for centuries. Well, he at least started it, and Devices and Pulsifers have kept it going throughout the centuries, never entirely trusting the other not to eradicate the other's lines. Intent on making his way back to his inn tonight. He would leave for London on the morrow.


	2. The Fireplace

Anthony James Crowley, of the Scotland Crowleys, was a third son and the least likely of his family to inherit more than two estates. His older brothers, Hastur and Azrael, were more likely to get everything once his parents passed. His sister, Scarlett, married a man above her station, and her son will now inherit more than anything their parents could have offered her. 

He lived humbly for those in his station, primarily as he now only maintained one estate, as the other he sold to his friend from childhood upon his marriage. He was well rid of the estate on the cliff, for he had nearly perished one night due to his drunken folly. He was most fortuitous for the wave and the angel that had rescued him from a watery grave.

Now he lived in his estate in the countryside, well away from high cliffs with an ocean below him, waiting for someone to slip and fall to their death accidentally. The only source of water to drown him was a river at the very edge of his property. He hardly found a reason to travel towards the body of water. He was not ready to meet the nothingness that was the afterlife, by drowning needlessly.

Unlike most of his fellows, he was not a man of religious beliefs as he's been questioning the existence of the Lord since he began puberty. At the age of thirteen, he began to notice that he was not like the other boys he befriended in school; he never felt the desire to chase any skirt that walked by him. He was not thinking of the fairer sex in any capacity except as a dread that one day he will have to marry one to create children. This was not something the Lord intended, as the word of all the sermons they attended during mass was that the Lord intended for the union of a man and woman to become one. The thought repulsed him. 

Many talked about the women they would like to wed; most would speak in vulgar terms as their hormones were raging, and some were still quite older than him and had experienced the pleasure being with a woman. He didn’t see the merit of sex besides to procreate, and it wasn’t something he dreamed about even with his raging hormones. At sixteen he went with friends to the village near the school and experienced what all his friends spoke about. The woman made him feel good, but it was still not something he was consumed by, unlike his friends. He never brought up the incident with his friends, though they had asked. Only Richard had not asked for details he had no wish to provide, and he was grateful for the lad for understanding it made him uncomfortable to discuss something that hadn’t meant anything to him, besides a theory he wanted to test.

When he was two and twenty, he had determined that it was merely him that was broken, and the Lord must have errored or had forsaken him. Eight years had passed, he learned to hide his brokenness from those that knew him best before he could not take another minute of the pressures of his family and the circles his family lived in. 

The night of his fall, there was an argument between his parents and himself, his brothers as witnesses. His brothers had failed in marrying quick enough and continuing the family legacy, for his father started to badger him to find a wife and produce children before they died. His parents were not young by any means, but they were not anywhere on their deathbeds, even seventeen years later. His father was still as fit as he has ever been. 

He faulted. He spoke aloud the questions that had plagued him half his life, he questioned the word of his father, question the existence of the Lord, wondered if he was even worthy to be a Crowley for he was broken. His father struck him once. The look in his eyes was all he needed before he left, his mother calling him back and him refusing to listen. He hopped on a horse and rode hard to his estate, the one near the cliff. It took two hours to reach his home, pick up a bottle of drink and drown himself in the burning of his throat and the saltiness of his tears. He made the stupid mistake of going out near the cliff, not wanting to jump, but being called there as if by a siren. He started shouting at the sky as it lightened into dawn. 

He meant to turn away, back to his estate, and to bed, but he slipped. He fell, and not wanting to die begged the God he questioned not to let him die. Asked him to let him live. 

The wave saved him from instant death, though the waves had tried to drown him all the same. An angel had come to pull him from the depths of a watery grave. A beautiful angel with the kindest and bluest eyes, coupled with blond curls that made him wish to run his fingers through. A longing he had never experienced with anyone he’s been with. And Anthony had been with a few someones in his thirty years, even if it reminded him of his brokenness each time. 

The man had stayed with him until someone came to aid him back to his manor. That was the last time he had expected to see the angel that had saved his life, and it had been for over a year. There were letters, and since then, there was a growing feeling in the pit of his heart that grew from longing to burning desire, the heat of his palms and love one had for someone he had only heard about in books. 

He loved this man, and it was wrong for two reasons; he was also a man. Their society was not accepting of such a match; due to his status and Azira’s position in the Church, it was an impossible dream from logical reasoning. But his heart yearned and wanted, and yet he had always stopped his lips from confessing the deepest parts of his soul in letters or when he had the ability to travel to London. He hated the city with its too tightly packed houses, streets filled with shit, and noise. He liked his solitude to contemplate his longings for the impossible, and the air was cleaner. He could hear himself think and not want to smother himself to prevent the stench from clogging his senses. 

Every letter or correspondence was treasured, wrapped together in a box for safekeeping. He kept the letters secret, just in case someone might discover them. They were amongst his most valuable treasures. No gem or coin could compare to the value of those letters from the man that had not only saved him from drowning but continued to protect him every time he received a letter or reread one from years past. The ink started to fade on some of the earliest ones, the parchment beginning to fray on others, from being handled so frequently. 

Even now, the thought of the large stack of letters each as familiar as the works of Shakespeare, though much more beloved than any sonnet or play, brought as much warmth as the fire in front of him. As he watched the fire dance, he pondered the recent letter laid read in his one hand and a drink in the other. The fact of the matter, he was worried. 

Aziraphale did not doubt himself. He did not doubt his calling to the Almighty. That was Anthony that challenged, and it was Anthony who called things that should be left alone into question. Aziraphale was the one that was steadfast in his mind, in his decisions. Aziraphale was the only certainty in his life. 

And yet the fact the man had penned his doubt, his worry that the call of God no longer applied, terrified him. As appallingly as it was, it has excited him, for if he left the Church, there might be a chance, a small window of opportunity that should Aziraphale returned his affections they would be able to. 

They could live here, in this estate. He had books, and Aziraphale could bring as many as he liked. They would be happy, and Anthony wouldn't have to question anything ever again for Aziraphale would know. Would reassure him — both with words and actions as he has done for the past seventeen years. 

He longed to reassure his angel, and yet he did not leave his armchair, he would not know what to say. He never did. 

Sipping his strong drink, he watched the flames dance his mind thankfully black for a few minutes. 

If he relaxed into the chair and contemplated just briefly that he should rest, there was a response to give, but he was tired. 

Placing the drink on the table next to his elbow, he handled the letter carefully. He will add this to his collection of correspondence, his fingers softly brushing the end of the message.

" _ My warmest and highest regards, _

_ Azira O'Fell, Curate of the Church of England" _

His finger slowed, and his eyes closed against his will — the picture of the man the last thing on his conscious mind. 


	3. An Overheard Conversation

Anathema thrummed with excitement. The sun was nearly perfect, and if she could get the colors right, she would have the ideal painting. The sun rose directly into her window each morning, and she has painted what she saw and at different times to try and capture the image before her. 

Holding her brush poised over the blank canvas, dipped in colorful paint, she looking out to the horizon, took a deep breath, and started to paint the colors that filled the sky. The cliffs were the natural part; it was the sky that gave her the most trouble. The colors were never right; they were never bright enough or never that right shade of gold, or blue, or magenta. 

It irritated her, just as one Newton Pulsifer irritated her. His letter still unread made her long to crumple it and toss it into the fire. 

She let her lips curl, and her temper spike as she mixed the colors for the sky again. How dare he accuse her uncle of trying to defraud the small inheritance from her. It was a few thousand pounds, nothing like the money he had coming in. 

It annoyed her more than it irritated her. She made sure to grab a clean brush and mixed more colors as she moved lower on the canvas. She muttered darkly under her breath, as her hand-rolled along with the shape of the painting, Once more changing brushes for the other parts of the picture. 

She breathed in deeply to silence the fast beating of her heart. Steadily she outlined what would be the cliff and then a little bit of water that would be seen. She made sure to allow the paint to dry before she painted the rest of her picture, the exact brushstrokes, calming her temper. 

Of course, she was still angry with him, and she thought him arrogant. However, she needed his help. She required his support and his cooperation if she was to gain her inheritance. She would have to be more even-tempered. A letter will be written before she broke her fast.  
-  
She penned her letter before going in search of her mother. She was hoping she had good news. In the parlor, she heard laughter, but of a friendly sort, not the kind of laughter her mother shared with many people Madame Shadwell being one of the few exceptions.

As she got closer to the door, she paused when she heard her name, “Amelia, my dear. Your daughter will find a fine match in Mr. Pulsifer. He is a young man with a good head on his shoulders, and he knows the value of a shilling unlike most of the others that you think would add to the Device name. However, your daughter is much more than her name. Or have you fallen into the same trap as your fellow ladies have with their daughters?”

It was Madame Shadwell indeed, and she was defending her...but pushing for her to think that man to be a good match for her, but she would rather chew her arm off than to marry a Pulsifer or a man that was so rude. 

“Tracy, please, a Pulsifer marry a Device, have you no shame? The very thought. Besides, with their debts, they would squander Anathema’s inheritance in an instance. No daughter of mine would marry a Pulsifer. Besides, my dear Tracy, even if we shall entertain such a notion, which is to say that Anathema would agree? You know how headstrong my daughter is, takes after Richard she does. And just like my husband, may the Lord protect his soul, she is far too practical and knows that if she wedded Mr. Pulsifer, she would be in the gutter by the time they had a child if the man was competent enough to get her with a child. The Pulsifer line has diminished significantly over the years with only one or three being born per generation, and mostly sons,” her mother said, and Anathema couldn’t believe how insensitive her mother was. 

Mr. Pulsifer was an arrogant man, and he was pretentious, but he seemed like a man worth more than the fact he was part of the family hers disliked on principle even if the individuals have done nothing. Also, if the man angered her so, there seemed to be something of a gentleman in him, for there must be for a man of his station. Yes, he was a barrister, but at least he wasn’t a scoundrel.

Madame Tracy seemed to agree as she came to Mr. Pulsifer’s defense, “Amelia! If what I’ve gathered about the man is that he is reliable and has a quick wit about him, something that Anathema would appreciate to stimulate that mind of hers, that you encouraged to flourish. Besides, I remember that you had that same stubbornness, quite unbecoming of a lady of your stature. It's not like your daughter to fall in love with the man, that is not my intention. No, but I dare say that the hatchet is buried with your two families should your daughter decide to entertain such a thing should it ever happen. Which I'm not saying would, like I've said before, Mr. Pulsifer is a man of wit and less inclined than Anathema to marry for profit. He is single-handedly paying off the debts his family has with his quarterly earnings. I have it on good authority that he still makes sure his tithes are paid each week at service. I do hope that you could come next week with Anathema and me? It would mean the world to the curate as you know he adores you. Why if he were several decades younger and more inclined in the institution of marriage, I'd tell Anathema to snatch him in a heartbeat. That man is like an angel on this plane, sent by God himself." 

Anathema waited for them to start discussing other more mundane things before backing away, making sure her feet were heard approaching on the stone before walking closer doing the same. Mother said a lady should never linger at doorways, but the topic had been much too alluring to hear it undisturbed. 

She smiled at her mother and her sponsor for the season and made sure to entertain the two when they asked her questions about her art. She loved to paint though the landscape was still far from perfect. There was just something missing from the painting, and yet she could not put her finger on it. 

She tried to ignore the thoughts in her head, a plan started to formulate in her head, but would it work? And more importantly, would Mr. Pulsifer be amenable to such an idea? This required planning and more thought.  
\--  
Within the next week, as Anathema planned to return to London, after the yuletide period, she spent most nights gazing at the stars and planning out what she needed to do. Her head was, however, conflicted. She had always been told that her future was planned out. She would marry someone, have children, and continue the Device family line. That was it. Her mother had fostered her interest in books, the stars, and anything else that had sparked her curiosity. She had hoped that she would be able to continue such pursuits after she married someone. 

When talking to some of the men at the ball, they were mostly telling her what she would do. Lay on her back and think of England until they had an heir, and no knowledge to learn except those of the responsibilities of the estate that they would live. Nothing like she had thought. 

The men thought her interests were out of her reach that she should leave the thinking to them, and yet hardly anyone she talked to during the snatches seemed to meet her high intelligence. She found herself bored within the first few seconds of the dance. She had to nod and smile at them when all she wanted was to be back with her stars or books or paints. 

Mr. Pulsifer was an irritating man, and yet he knew she was intelligent and did not suffer the arrogance of men. He was the only one she could think of that would help her in her endeavor to gain her inheritance. However, would he agree? It was poor manners to use someone for gain, sinuous even. Maybe she shouldn't do this. Perhaps she will meet a man that wouldn't mind her pursuits. She shall wait until after Crosby's ball to make a decision. 

The night they had returned to the Shadwell Brownstone, Anathema met the most unusual man. A curate, Mr. O'Fell, not a very tall man when compared next to others she had seen, but he was the kindest man she had ever met. 

He smiled and laughed with Madame Shadwell, and Anathema even let out a chuckle or two. He seemed full of life, and yet there was a sadness lurking in his eyes that she thinks shouldn't be there. He smiled at her, and as he was getting her coat and Madame Tracy asked her to see Mr. O'Fell out, she wondered if it would be proper to ask something so personal of someone she had just met. 

"Whatever it is, my dear, feel free to ask. I may have an insight you had not thought of before. I am a curate after all," he said to her, smiling at her ever so kindly. 

She twisted her hands as they looked at one another, "It's just…its just that I have an issue that I would rather ask in private when the situation isn't so late? It's quite personal."

She held her tongue when the moment came, maybe another time. The way the man's blue eyes crinkled at the edges, and the smile on his lips made the warmth inside her increase. It was a pleasant feeling, nothing of what her books as romantic or what the Bible calls sexual feelings, but that of a fatherly figure, or what she would imagine a father would make her feel. Safe. Secure. Acceptance. 

"Of course, of course. You know, should Mrs. Shadwell not object, both should come to my service on Sunday. And then after you can confide in me or not, but do come to the sermon at least. Maybe it will help with your questions?" The way he tilted his head just so, reminded her of a curious feline or a scholar posing a question of great interest to his peers. And that's what she felt like with this man: not a woman but an equal. Like her problems wouldn't be met with scorn or pity or telling her to not read too much into things as a woman was said to do. She thinks that women see too much of men's folly and improves on them. Making them not superior to the other sex but vastly more aware. 

"I'd like that," she said warmly to him, giving him a curtsey while he bowed to her before leaving.  
-  
The ball was to be on Friday, they arrived on Monday, and there was much to do. She was meeting the Royal representative at the Cosby Ball, and she was more than a little nervous, especially the night before. 

She peered out the window with sorrow in her heart, for she longed to see her beloved stars, they always gave her comfort when she could gaze at them. It made her wonder how insignificant she was in the grand scheme of the entire universe. For if God did create them in his image, why were there other stars to make her ponder if there was indeed something else out there? And were they too created in his image?

It was a question she didn't think she would ever answer. 

"If you stare up all the time, my dear, how will you ever find a man for you to settle down with and live your life, not in the stars but planted firmly here in this place?" Madame Shadwell asked her as she worked on her needlepoint. 

Anathema detested needlepoint, but she was capable with a needle and thread, Madame Tracy was an artist with her needlepoint, but not much else. For when Anathema asked if she painted one day, the woman looked at her and said quite plainly painting was and is something the Lord didn't bless her in talent. He blessed her with other ab44ilities. The look on her face was sultry, and she wondered what she meant, hoping the thought wasn't what she meant. The idea was not one a lady should have. Or so said society and god's word. 

"They give me comfort for they are the one constant in my life, they don't ever change in a world that changes daily...until now," she responded with a grimace, moving the curtain back into place. 

She hated the smoke and dirt of the city, her county home with the smell of the sea and flowers in her mother's garden. She hoped that if she was to go through with her plan, Mr. Pulsifer didn't wish to remain in the city afterward. He could if it was his desire, but she would be far, far away from the stench the city emitted. Was it going to work? Would he try to limit her like everyone else? Was he the right choice? Would he accept her?

She didn't have the answer to that; she had none. She didn't know this man except for the times she had met him and the few letters he has sent. 

She collected her poems, her secret pleasure, written by her ancestor Agnes Nutter, in her lap as she sat across from Her mother's dearest friend. Oh, grandmother Agnes could weave a string of words better than a spider could a web, her short poems several stanzas quick always sending a chill up her spine. She flicked to the page she left off and continued reading. Her eyes were devouring the words, even if every line had been memorized long ago. She well-loved it, and she doesn't think she'd ever part from it. 

It took her a minute to feel the eyes on her as she read, and when she looked up from her place, she saw the caring eyes of the woman before her. Madame Tracy Shadwell wasn't old, well she might be, but she was young to Anathema. Madame Shadwell always had a smile on her face, big or small, with her eyes. Blue eyes looked at her as if she could read her very soul. It should have unnerved her or made her feel vulnerable, and yet it felt rather nice to know someone could look at her and see she wasn't only what she presented herself as. There was something much deeper than the Anathema she showed the world. The perfect daughter, the ideal Device Heir. 

"They seem lonely, those stars. Balls of gas or so they say. Stuck in place for all eternity, it must get boring day after day looking down on us mortals. Looking but never interacting. My dear Anathema, don't fill your head with balls of gases, but of love and peace. When was the last time you did something with an impulse that didn't lend a hand to something to gain?" The sad smile on the woman's face made her think she wasn't talking about the stars above but the one sitting in her chair. 

She looked down at the poem in her hand [enter prophecy from Agnes's book that fit the scenario]. And bit the inside of her cheek, trying to find the correct answer, she always had the right answer. 

"No, I don't want the answer, my dear. Child, you are a woman in the eyes of many, your mother included, but you are still young enough to make blunders and not have the world's answers at your fingertips. At least in this house, you don't have to be the one you show the world, you are safe here. I promise you that," the words made her heart squeezed painfully and tears burn the back of her eyes, making her look away from the other woman's sincere orbs. 

Madame Shadwell cleared her throat and picked up her needlepoint once more, "Now for tomorrow's ball, I insisted to your mother that you wear The Dress in which you helped design. I want to show off the bright star that London has in their mists, and I've taken the liberty of arranging the order of your dances. The representative will show up only at the beginning, and you aren't the only lady he is being shown. But the dance will be brief, and after that, we will enjoy ourselves very much, I think. Oh, and Mr. Pulsifer would be meeting us there. I invited him personally." 

Anathema's chest tightened unpleasantly, her palms sweated some, her grip in the book tightening, and her breath hitched. Dread settled into the bottom of her stomach, sitting there like two-day-old hardened bread, just sitting there like shackles. She had mostly allowed herself during her speech to forget about tomorrow's ball. To forget that she could ruin her family's name if anything went wrong due to her...shortcomings. Like her temper or too much of her intelligence shown. Heaven forbid should Mr. Pulsifer be even remotely dismissive again there was a good chance she should ruin everything her family has built over the past one hundred and twenty-one years.

She nodded and went back to her book, her mind wandering to things she shouldn't. If they could get a quick moment to speak, maybe in the Crosby gardens, where it would be given a faux sense of privacy for them to talk as she doesn't think anything up toward would happen. She refused, and besides, Mr. Pulsifer was a man, and all men had their buying price. She just had to figure out how high it was his.


	4. An Offer of Sorts

Anathema Device was not fond of balls or men as a group. They were idiotic and demeaning. As she sat gazing at the stars, she discreetly wiped away the few stray tears that had fallen.

Sir Crosby was not a gentleman at all, telling her in very clear that no man wanted a woman such as herself, except to marry into the Device family. One of the more well off families. Most had by now started to collect debt in different ways, and the money she would inherit would clear those debts for them. They wanted her money and her title. Just as Mr. Pulsifer claimed they would. It didn't mean it hadn't hurt when Roddrick Crosby told her that her looks would get her a husband. But he would need a firm hand to curb her interests and limit her pursuit of knowledge "men don't like intelligent women, it's not right." He had told her. She politely excused her and made her way into the gardens to hopefully spot the stars that gave her comfort.

She hated how his words hurt her; she hardly other opinions faze her. But the words hit a weak spot inside her, making its mark in a vulnerable area of hers.

"Oh, Miss Device. I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude, Madame Shadwell informed me that you were out here. I can go if you like?" It was Mr. Pulsifer, the man that had first said the words to her, that no man could want her, that her title and fortune were all they could want. Maybe he was here to laugh at her misfortune.

But what came out of her mouth in a whisper was more than shocking to her, "No, you can stay, I'm merely feeling sorry for myself."

She wiped her eyes and sniffed discreetly into her handkerchief, dabbing her cheeks to wipe away and stray tears. Looking over at the poor man in his red waistcoat and dark dinner jacket, his dark breeches, he looked at her with concern in his gaze, and she looked away least he caught her staring and mistook it for interest.

"If you don't mind me asking, what has you feeling sorry for yourself? You don't strike me as the person to feel pity for your plight. Did someone say something to you?" He seemed insulted at the very thought of her being human. Of her having emotions. Well, he can join Sir Crosby in her downgraded opinion.

"Not at all, Mr. Pulsifer, I'm merely having a moment of peace, feeling down about the fact that it has been exactly five months since my coming out, and not one gentleman has expressed interest to start an engagement. I have seven more months before the inheritance I might have had becomes my uncle's. I'm not poorer without the inheritance, but it was my father's wish for me to have it. I'm not sure I can express with words the thought of giving something up from the father I never knew would mean to me, Mr. Pulsifer, what it would do to me. For all my intellect, and sometimes abrasive nature, there are certain things that I hold dear and the things that belong to my family being one of them," she didn't mean to tell that much or to use a hardly ladylike tone. No, her tone was abrasive, harsh even.

"No-- I mean yes-- I mean I do understand in my way, Miss Device, what it would mean to give up something that belongs to your family. I'm a barrister, as you may know, but I'm afraid the business isn't what it used to be. I'm in much debt, or the business is. The business is all us Pulsifers have, besides our title. Ours didn't grow into the same wealth that the Device did. So we haven't much left. I've been trying to save the business, but there is far too much debt that my gratuity cannot cover while also living off it. So while not the same, I do understand about giving up something belonging to one's family, hence my mother's drive to find me married before the end of the season. For if I cannot marry well, I'll have to sell the business. Something I loathe even to consider," he told her with an air of struggle, almost as if he was the one afraid of pity. How odd? Why would Newton Pulsifer care what she had to say? Or even think of him.

She tilted her head and looked directly into the man's face. As if scrutinizing him from head to toe. The man before he wasn't disfigured or ugly, he was mildly attractive looking with his dark hair and dark eyes, even if the latter were hidden being round spectacles. He was fair-skinned and tall, maybe just a head taller than her. He was not old, perhaps only six years her senior, maybe seven at most. And he didn't sport much facial hair, clean-shaven. His hands were long, and she thinks perhaps he was musically inclined.

If she didn't loathe the idea of marriage or the idea of being constrained to being less than her self, then she would consider an alliance. As it was, she was ok with a mutually beneficial relationship.

"You know, Mr. Pulisfer, I may have an idea that could benefit both of us in both the short term and the long run. If you wouldn't mind hearing it out," she said, twisting her handkerchief in her lap, her eyes steadily looking over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat at her after a time, and then nodded, saying quietly, "Alright, I will hear you out, Miss Device."

She licked her suddenly dry lips and looked around to make sure they were alone. Once reassured, she explained her idea, "We both need to marry, that is our cross to bear by the society. However, unlike our peers, we have a time frame of seven months, the perfect time for courtship and engagement to take place without it being too long or too short. I'd get my inheritance, and in exchange, I'd give you the money to save your family's business. The only thing we'd have to do is marry one another for this to work I'm afraid. Which there would be boundaries, such as I will not live in London, the city is not the place of my liking, and I rather not be confined to the stench of the city. There will be no touching after the required public affections, and you will be free to have whatever mistress you want, so long as discretion is the epitome of your actions that no one knows that we are not intimate at all. You will not hinder my pursuit of knowledge, and in turn, we both get to save face with our family. Though I think our lines die with us, so would the rift between the Pulsifers and Devices."

He looked at her direct in her eyes; confusion and amusement and just a bit of consideration settled in his dark orbs, trying to work out what she said. Until finally, he decided on disgust.

"What you are asking of me is to use you for my family's gain and that you will use me in return for yours. I am a man of morals, Miss Device I will not use another for monetary gains. I'm appalled that you would think so lowly of yourself as to bargain away your hand such as this," and indeed, he did look very much appalled.

She laughed without actual humor, looking away back at the cloud-filled sky, "My hand isn't worth much, I'm afraid Mr. Pulsifer. Just as you said before, any husband I marry will gain a title and the fortune behind it. That is all a man looks for in a wife. Hardly does a man look for something beyond that in a woman of my class. I'm afraid all men want only someone to bare their heirs and manage the estates little that they allow, and to be content to do needlepoint and paint and gossip their life away while they pursuit in knowledge and create bastards wherever they travel. You don't have to give me an answer right away, Mr. Pulsifer, but perhaps do consider all that I'm offering. It could mean the difference between your family keeping or losing their business."

He bowed to her before leaving her to gaze at the cloudy sky, no stars in sight, but she could pretend for a minute that she was watching them. Or that they were gazing down on her through the thick clouds of ash.  
\--  
Anathema was sitting in the pew on Sunday, Madame Tracy obliging her curiosity of attending the curate's sermon today, and even agreed to allow her to speak with the man in confidence.

The man was odd, his accent nonexistent even though she knew he was not born in London, but the Welsh countryside. A man from a prominent family, but had left when God called him to serve. His father had been happier to have his brother Gabriel be his heir though his mother was more disappointed, he said.

The way he talked of his family made her wonder why his mother had been disappointed, and not his father. Many fathers would be furious that their eldest child, his heir, would leaving to do God's work. That was mostly for second and third sons.

However, watching the man talk so strongly on God and his plan, at the way he captured everyone's attention, made Anathema understand that the passion he had was hardly forced, but natural. She envied the ease of which people stopped and listened. And yet at the same time, she admired it.To watch the man walk up and down the isles, capturing the attention of the older and younger generation alike made her wonder why he could not obtain the care of a wife? Had he been younger, she would have chosen him instead of Mr. Pulsifer. Mr. Pulisfer didn't feel inclined toward her proposal the way he left her on Friday. Alone and upset.

Yes, she told him to think about it, but honestly, she had just wanted to be alone after she made a fool of herself. She didn't know she would be able to hold down the guilt now felt, and how much of an idiot she thought herself. She should have waited for another time after she talked with the man that returned at the front of the church. He was not very loud, and yet with the light streaming in from the window, one could imagine a set of white feathery wings on his back out and proud against the plain walls of the building they sat. And oh, she knew that he might be able to aide her with her questions for she had many.

Later while she waited for the church to empty, Madame Tracy sat next to her, humming a tune to herself, a lovely upbeat number that soothed her nerves. Her dark eyes roamed the walls and took in the trappings of the building, patiently waiting for the Curate to finish. Finally, the church was empty besides the three of them, and the poor man was dabbing his cloth on his brow, a tired yet pleased smile on his face.

"Oh, my dear, you showed up. I was quite pleased to see you both here today. Tell me, how did you like it?" He was excitable, and yet now, as she listened, she could detect a slight hint of an accent to his voice, and his mannerisms were too perfect for him to be English. Learned thoroughly by watching and observing, but not entirely natural.

"I adored it, Mr. O'Fell. It was passionate, and you had the attention of everyone in attendance." She told him with a smile on her face, even as her hands twisted her fan between the two.

She was nervous. Her palms were unusually sweaty, and she rather disliked the fact that her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest. Why was she so nervous? The man was kind, and he was rather harmless. He was to be trusted, and she instead thinks the beauty of women did not sway him. There was something different about him that she couldn't put her finger on, but it also could do with the fact he was still an unmarried man.

"Really? I trust you are not attempting to flatter me, but come, come. We must have some tea. Madame, are you staying for tea as well?" Mr. O'Fell asked Madame Tracy.

"Oh, gracious no. I have some business to attend, but I was waiting for the right moment. Right moments are always just there, Mr. O'Fell," Madame Shadwell stated before getting up and leaving them with a confounding smile.

Once she was gone, Anathema was alone for once with a man, a man of the cloth, but still a man.

"I vow that no harm comes to you, Miss Device, not from me, I'm rather afraid you have a better chance of hurting me than the opposite," his smile put her at ease, and they went back to the back of the church. It looked like a study, to Anathema though she wasn't sure what you would call a curate's office.

The man silently made tea, giving her time to browse the books that were on his shelves, seeing but not touching. No, that would be a violation of his privacy. There weren't many things on the shelves or surfaces. Except for a small chestnut box, the carvings on it a strange design, almost like arms. There was something written on the bottom of the design, but she couldn't read it.

"My family coat of arms. The chest was my grandmother's and is my most prized possession. Not that I should value anything material, but that box has been in the O'Fell family for at least a century, if not more," Mr. O'fell told her as he placed down the serving tray and sorted out the tea things.

She smiled softly at him and sat down, understanding quite too well what that means. "I understand, Mr. O'Fell. My family has a book of poems made by my ancestors and an old but fine dress. Heirlooms passed down from one generation to the next, and I'm afraid that will end with me."

She tried to keep the fear from her voice or the slight tremble that it caused, but she was sure with rising of his eyebrows as he poured the tea, that he caught it. As she sipped her tea delicately as a lady should and Mr. O'Fell sat down in the only unoccupied seat that it became apparent, he was awaiting her to tell him if she wanted too. He was not going to press her. She liked that. A choice that was hers.

She explained in great detail the facts she faced and her solution to them, even admitting to wanting to ask him first before had her impulsive nature gotten the better of her, and now she was lost and needed help.

All the while, he listened, asking a clarifying question or two, but otherwise listened to her. His tea being sipped as she talked and let hers grow tepid.  
When she finished, she took her tea and sipped it until it was gone. He refilled her cuppa and hummed a delightful tune, similar to the one Madame Shadwell was humming before.

"That is indeed a lot for a young lady to handle alone. And as far as I can tell from what you've stated, it seems to me that you know what you want. Now I cannot speak for Mr. Pulsifer on what he would do, the lad is fairly busy and seems to possess intelligence about him. He would not be a Barrister if he didn't. But if I may be a little hypothetical about this scenario. Say things go according to your current plan, Mr. Pulsifer agrees to wed you but not bed you. When there are no children from the union, which given your family's prominence in society, would be questioned and they find out that he has not consummated the union, oh dear, I fear that you will be granted an annulment. Did you not plan ever to have children with Mr. Pulsifer? Or is it that you fear it?"

She fretted with the fabric of her skirt and said to the floor, "Admittedly, I fear that I am not rightly equipped with the loving nurturing nature a mother ought to have. My thoughts override the fickleness of my heart, and even then, I wonder greatly why a woman must be a mother if that is all she can accomplish. That a woman must be a mother, or she must be useless. Why must it be one or the other? Why can't a woman seem motherhood, not for her?"

Mr. O'Fell sipped his tea in contemplation, and she wondered if the man was going to tell her she must bear her husband's sons without complaint. However, he said, "You aren't wrong, Miss Device, but while you make a valid point; however, I think you forget the argument as well. A woman can do both. While bringing in life is an accomplishment, it is not a woman's only one. Just as a business or idea a woman has is not all she is. There are dimensions, areas of her that change with time. The right partner brings those sides out as time passes, and God's challenges come knocking. Sometimes it is not nature, but nurture that allows for a well-developed child. Choosing the right partner is vital."

Anathema nodded understanding and tilting her head she smiled at the man, "Is that why you are unmarried, Mr. O'Fell? You haven't chosen a wife?"

Mr. O'Fell's face fell into that look Anathema had been curious about, and suddenly the air between them faded into an awkwardness she hadn't meant to cause. She opened her mouth to apologize when he gave her a sad, barely-there smile, "No. There was someone. But, it's rather complicated, my dear, and would bore you. But I would love to help aide you in changing your perspective if you are willing to have an open mind and an open heart?"

She smiled at him, her heart warm for once. "I would like that, Mr. O'Fell very much."


	5. Bad Advice

Anthony Crowley smiled broadly at his barrister, for Newton Pulsifer was the only man that was competent enough to get him off on such lenient terms or one that knew that he had meant no real malice. Though the magistrate did tell him that should he end up in his courts again, not even all the persuasion by Mr. Pulsifer would get him out of punishment.

He looked to his, well, his friend, or at least Anthony considered the man his friend. He didn't recognize many people that close. Richard had been his friend, and he missed the man as the years have passed.

Newton looked far away today like his mind was leagues away. Maybe he could be of assistance somehow.

He led the man I to the nearest pub and sat the man down before calling over the maid that worked the bar, "Two drinks for my friend and I, lass. Two of the house's finest."

The woman nodded and went to get their drinks while he turned to the man and asked the question plaguing him, "What has you leagues away, Mr. Pulsifer?"

Anthony might consider him a friend, but he wasn't yet permitted to call the man by his given name. Though Anthony thought it was absurd that they've known each other these past few years and have yet to pass the formalities.

"Oh, I got an...well a woman, you see… well, it's more of a.." the lad tripped over his tongue that Anthony thinks he understood.

"A woman usually gets a man's tongue-tied, as well as his mind lost some far away. Tell me, lad, are you planning on expressing a formal interest? Or is she one of those that you think is not worth your time? I know you wouldn't dare lead a woman on, Mr. Pulsifer, but sometimes a straight look at the facts helps. Is she moneyed?"

Newton nodded as the barmaid came to the table with their drinks. The man grabbed the glass and drank deeply, almost as if he was trying to drown out the answer.

Crowley sat back and couldn't help the smirk on his lips, his gaze on the man before him. "Does she have looks? Is she well versed in the arts? Do you think her boring? Many a man has shied away from a woman because they find her vapid and boring."

The man nearly choked on his drink, but he placed it down, coughing into a handkerchief, his eyes watering from the shock.

"N-No. I mean," he coughed, interrupting his current thoughts. Crowley waited, taking measure sips and looking as if the other patrons held any interest to him.

"She is beautiful, I mean to say like one would think nature is beautiful, wild in its way or the way the sea can be both calm and (another word for rough) while keeping men enslaved to her beauty. She is by far the most contradictory person I've met. She seems to have intellect and has yet to find a suitor that has expressed interest and went ahead and asked me to marry her outright," the man's brow furrowed and was confused and hopeless like a woman would be with a. The man was head over heels already, and the poor lad didn't know what to do with that. He would help! He liked to help others, others just never took his advice, and it usually goes pear-shaped. He rather disliked pears.

"And the problem you seem to have, lad? Do you not return her affections?" He was sure the man was going to lie to him.

"Well, she doesn't have any affection for me. She wanted to use me to get her inheritance and promised to help me with the debt of the business, and I find that wrong. I don't want to use her to pay off the debt we have, but it was an advantageous proposal. Plus, she has stated quite plainly she didn't want us to consummate the marriage. Thus it would be in name only," he acted like that was a bad thing. Something Crowley never even considered asking a woman to marry him in name only, like that would have solved most of his problems or just created more should he ever wished to express his affections for...well it didn't matter.

Something nudged at t the edge of his brain as Newton continued to rant about the absurdity of the proposal. The ramblings projected how wounded his pride had been with such a lapse of judgement; and the absolute certainty that Newton was not someone to use others for his own gain. Crowley doubted he would be using her inheritance to help the business.

"I mean, Mr. Crowley, would you have accepted?"

The question threw him for he was sure that had he even knew it was a possibility at the lad's age, he wasn't sure. He much rather not think about what could have been. More than once, he has imagined what it would have been should he had been born female instead and met the man of his dreams then. The cloth did not frown upon marriages of the curates, between man and woman, but certainly did between men and men. Just as most of society.

"I don't know, but," and then it clicked! Oh, the gull of that woman! And the brilliancy of her proposal. Clearing his throat, he placed down his ale and looked at the man with a smile.

"It's rather brilliant if I do compliment, Miss Device, for an excellent plan. You both get what you want, and none of the mess of letting your heart get involved. She is well guarded, using her head rather than the fickleness of her heart. But if you want that fickle organ, I might have a plan on how to woo the woman into your bed if you wish it to be a true marriage," he was rather triumphant about it. Because, oh, he had an excellent plan!

Yes, he was going to help Mr. Pulsifer woo the woman right into possibly the happiest marriage she could have devised, and best of all, it would be easy.

Newton didn't look assured, nor did he look like he much agreed with it, in the slightest. "Mr. Crowley, I don't think you understand. I do not want to use her for her money, nor do I wish to be used. Besides, why me?"

He wanted to knock some sense into the lad, but he settled for sympathetic instead of downright belligerence, "Mr. Pulsifer, when a woman tells you she wants to marry you, for whatever reason you shut up and do it. Except when it would cause too much of a scandal. Now the Pulsifers are just as respected as the Device, plus the length of discontent between your families is well known. If you would put an end to the discord, subtle though it is, then it will benefit society. So no scandal, and besides the money that she is offering you, you can do two things. Pay off the debt which I know you are adamant about, and also invest the rest in an estate in the country away from London. Or you can give up your family business by the end of next year. The debt is too much for you, and even if I gave you the money, should you ever ask which you never will, you wouldn't be able to pay me back in time on your gratuity alone."

The man sank into the chair, and he felt remorse for causing the man to understand that he had no choice in accepting the proposal, even if it's not the one he wanted. He didn't want one, he thinks, but at the same time, there is hope. "Also, why you? Mayhaps because you are someone who understands her more than any man ever will. You know she has passions beyond the arts and beyond the sphere of what a woman is said to be. You will not tell her to stop and "put her in hand" I do believe you English call it. And you admire her, just a bit with the fearlessness of her pursuits, and that goes a long way in her esteem."

He finished his drink and ordered them two more. Newton drank deeply, but not enough to make him choke again, and Anthoney went for the jugular, "Besides, what do you have to lose besides your pride? You get a beautiful wife, your father's business saved, and if you allow me to help you, a woman to fall deeply in love with you in return."

Newton grunted into his drink and sighed as if Crowley had hit the crux of the matter. The proposal wasn't of love like he wanted but a scheme for business. It had disappointed the romantic heart beneath the waistcoat.

"Fine, Mr. Crowley, if it wouldn't be much trouble, maybe we can help each other out?"

Anthony raised an eyebrow as if pondering what he meant. "How will you help me out? I don't recall asking for help on any matters besides the legal ones."

Newton smiled at him, one of mischief if he was reading his expression correctly, "Oh, but you do if you end up back in front of the judge again. If this keeps you out of the courtroom, then it aides you as much as it aides me."

He glared and then shook his head, "Well then, let's plan how to woo your lady. Now first we got to.." and his mouth ran away as his ideas after ideas came, even as drink after drink emptied and another one replaced it. His brogue was getting deeper with each round he consumed.

Anathema Device wouldn't know what hit her, and she would swoon at the ideas of Anthony James Crowley. And maybe once the bans were read, he too could woo the one he wanted. He just had to be very, very careful.


	6. The Call

Two weeks have passed, Anathema wrangled her hands, she was fretting over the letter that was delivered this morning for Madame Shadwell. She wasn't sure what it contained, but she hoped that it was a calling of a particular suitor. 

Oh, how she wished she hadn't been so impulsive. After Mr. O'Fell asked her to allow his aide, he suggested allowing Mr. Pulsifer a week to think about her rather businesslike proposal. And to gather information about Mr. Pulsifer discreetly, and then talk to one another at the next sermon. Feeling like she was one of the heroes on a quest from her books, she tried to accomplish that task as discreetly as possible, though it was difficult as she had no female acquaintances that knew of him. 

She felt deflated upon the previous Sunday when she had nothing to report back to Mr. O'Fell. The man had gathered some information, but it was fundamental. He came from the right family, had a title though a mounting debt from his late father and his mother was trying to get him married off to keep him from making his father's mistakes. 

Now a week later, she was fretting and have devised a letter of apology, as she was sure he was to reject her offer. There was little hope for her to continue seeking out ways to gain her inheritance from her uncle, which she doubted had been the truth anyway. 

Having written her mother about the matter of her father's brother, she was sure she would be cursing the name of another Pulsifer. Having sent that letter off before breakfast, she was quite bored of whatever tasks Madame Shadwell assigned her. Needlepoint and to train her fingers on the keys of her rather small piano. 

She instead stared out the window into the tiny garden behind the house. She longed to lounge in the sun today, the first clear day in a week. 

"Miss Device, you have visitors, shall I get the Mistress of the house?" Madame Tracy's butler, Seamus, asked while she jumped slightly, a hand pressed to her throat, startled. 

She nodded, waited by the window for Seamus to get her sponsor. She could hear the lady's voice from the next exclaim in intelligible excitement and rushed footsteps. 

"Mr. Pulsifer, what a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in. What brings you to my lovely abode so early this morning?" It was nearing noon, and she instead thinks Madame Tracy had gotten into the sherry again. 

"Oh...I erm wished to speak with Miss Device as its pressing matters regarding her inheritance and Device Manor is too far away, and the post has already come, I thought I would call on her instead. Mr. O'Fell was kind enough to grant me the directions as I've not been to this part of London in ages," she was somewhat surprised at how quick he twisted the truth, but it served their purposes quite nicely. 

"Oh, of course, of course. Do come in, Mr. Pulsifer. Oh, Mr. Crowley, I didn't notice you there! How fortunate that you were able to accompany Mr. Pulsifer today. I'm glad you're here. I have urgent concerns to attend to today, but if you would be so kind as to accompany my charge and Mr. Pulsifer, I'm afraid she cabin fever has gotten to her, and a walk would do her some good. Let me get her. Excuse me, gentlemen," she turned away from the window as Madame Tracy came to the door and looked at her with a conspiratorial smile on her face. 

"I'm sure you heard, my dear, that you have a caller. Now I need you to grab your coat, and on the way out to grab Mr. O'Fell, he usually walks to St. James' Park about this time of day. Therefore if you catch him, then it would be easy for the two of them to stay and chaperone the two of you. I think Mr. O'Fell could do Mr. Crowley some good in terms of friendship, that silly man needs God's guidance," the way she lowered her voice confused her, Madame Tracy was not at all shy about her opinion. 

"Of course, Madame Shadwell, " she would agree to nearly anything to escape this house for an hour, maybe more if the company was agreeable. 

Anathema smiled brightly ten minutes later as she was helped into the carriage by Mr. Crowley, and the two men talked to one another on their way to gather Mr. O'Fell. Mr. Pulsifer looked downright pale as he tried to smile at her in the foyer. If his color didn't return, she would request they sit on the grass or something. 

Mr. Crowley got out of the carriage and made his way into the parish, leaving them to stare out their respective sides. Anathema, for the first time since meeting the man's acquaintance, didn't know what to say in front of him. So she tilted her head back and let the sun warm her delicate cheeks. 

The minutes crawled by and still no sign of the two other men. She kept checking, and Mr. Pulsifer looked as though he was about to disembark and go into the church itself when both men emerged, Mr. O'Fell's smile brighter than she's ever seen it. Though Mr. Crowley's visage looked a bit sour around the edges, she wanted to say something but instead moved closer to the other side of the carriage to allow one of the men to sit next to her. 

"Mr. O'Fell, I'm glad we caught you before you left. Madame Shadwell will be most pleased that you are joining us, and so am I, very pleased indeed," she expressed with a smile, and she could have sworn the men opposite her frown deepened. 

Mr. O'Fell smiled blindly at her, and nodded his head, his smile speaking for the man instead.

It didn't take them very long to get to St. James's Park, Mr. O'Fell, helping her from the carriage by her hand, and she stepped out of the way for the others to emerge. The four of them set off, Mr. Pulsifer stepped to her side, and Mr. O'Fell almost seemed to glide back next to Mr. Crowley, who seemed too far to be appropriate for a chaperone. However, he appeared to be listening intently to whatever it was Mr. O'Fell was saying to him. The man was a friend to all she suspected. 

"I've taken the time to think about what you said, Miss Device, about the mutually beneficial the proposal could be. Both from a social standpoint as well as a personal one. However, there are a few things I'd like to amend within the offer. As it seemed as though there was hardly anything in there to persuade you to make that deal without great sacrifice," he said, and she looked at him in confusion. 

"Oh, and what would that be, Mr. Pulsifer, that which you think I overlooked?" He was an idiot if he thought she had overlooked anything concerning that offer. 

"I speak of the case you made concerning the fact that our lines will die with us, as in no children. Are you unable to bear them?" He asked as if the fault should lay with her and not his seed that wouldn't take root.

"I'm more than capable of producing children. It's rather that this marriage is of convenience to both of us, and I rather hoped you did not wish for children. Then again, I'm not surprised that you think the fault should lie with me. What if it is you who can not produce viable seed to get me with a child? Not that would happen as I have no intention of consummating this marriage. I rather think this a business deal we can work out, but if you were going to insult me, I rather not discuss this further," she said shortly, her tone indicating that she was finished with this discussion. 

"I only meant to understand the logic behind why you requested that part specifically; and had wondered if there was an illness in your family that would prevent a healthy birth. I know your parents struggled to have a child for three years. Are you worried you would have the same fate?" He wasn't condescending or condemning her mother, but she felt her back stiffen at such an allegation.

"Partly yes, and partly that I do not wish to be intimate with anyone. Lust is a sin, and the only thing I know of the act is that it hurts for the female. I rather dislike the thought of such an act that is supposed to be meaningful in spirituality, causing pain for one. Seems rather one-sided to me and hardly beneficial," she stated bluntly, and he looked surprised at her as if the thought had never occurred to him. 

"I've heard that as well, but also a time, it could be pleasurable for both parties. I would think someone so deeply interested in the mysteries of the stars could appreciate the similar mysteries of life," it wasn't a question but a statement, one which annoyed her. 

Oh, he thought he knew her, but he knew next to nothing about her — only the glimpses she has allowed others to see. Him even less so.

"Have you come here to ridicule my offer, Mr. Pulsifer?" She was not in the mood for games. 

"Of course not, Miss Device, I've come to accept it if you are still offering it to me. I just was curious and rather offended if I'm honest that you thought so little of yourself on a personal level. I'll admit my brain could not understand why you've been negligent in the deal itself," he told her, and she wondered if he was teasing her or insulting her once more. 

"I see. Well, yes, the offer is still there to be accepted, Mr. Pulsifer. Though I have decided that most details being offered were in haste if I'm honest, more than a touch of fear, I fear things, like anyone, Mr. Pulsifer. But I do not think we have to discuss them today. Shall we discuss anything other than the offer?" He seemed pleased for a reason she was not aware, and it bothered her how he was delighted at her words. 

"Splendid! Now shall we discuss the action plan on how to persuade your mother in allowing such a thing? She is not going to like a Pulsifer in the family considering the history between our families," he asked with a slight tilt of his head as he held out his arm for her to take. 

Reluctant, she did and was weary about the conversation in truth. He was not wrong about her mother, and maybe he did have some intellect after all. 


	7. An Outing

sAzira O’Fell was marveling at the sight of his companion. His dear friend Anthony had come to London once more, and he was pleased the man had thought to drop in on him. After his conversation with Miss Device, he had been out of sorts, quickly penning a letter to Anthony, but he was afraid he had kept it inside a book on his desk.

A letter that should anyone find there would be questions and actions taken against him for what words contained in that letter. He had confessed to things he had never admitted aloud to himself, or at least that is what Azira told himself thirteen years prior when finally put a name to what he was feeling. Unfortunately, there was shame at which he felt, naming such emotions for once named he could not claim ignorance from that point forward. He struggled and sought to ignore until a meeting a year later with his dear Anthony brought them to the surface. Bubbling ever under his skin and more than once attempted to pass his tongue. 

For years he has hidden his affections for the man currently talking about the terrible ducks, or what Azira thinks he means swans, which he always did when they were together, it was part of Anthony’s charms. Oh, his weak heart delighted and anguished in their companionship, even if they were now somehow chaperoning two young lovers, for there could never be anything more for them than this!

The church and society would never approve. While sleepless in his bed, it bothered him much, giving him a melancholy he could not shake. Being in the present moment with him and their charges, Azira could not even remotely recall the feeling of sadness for his heart was full of joy the moment he saw the familiar figure saunter into his hall.

The way the young lad looked at Miss Device, the interest in his eyes and him captured onto every one of her words, reminded him of the possibility of young love.

“You’re staring, Azira, I thought one should never stare?” Anthony teased him in a near hiss.

He gave his companion a look from the side of his eye, and could barely keep the joy from his tone, “Hush you willy old serpent, I told you that tongue would get you in trouble more than once. Your last letter, Anthony, concerned me. You always know I’m here should you need to talk about anything, no matter the topic, and if you’re in trouble, I want to help!”

Oh, how he longed to reach across the tiny space between their hands, taking his hand within his own. But it was not proper, and it was not something he could do even if it were just them. It wasn’t, but if it was, he was not brave enough. The touch of their hands accidentally touching over the years have been brief and never long for Azira, but oh how he treasured them even if he shouldn’t. 

“Mr. Pulsifer has helped me a great deal, in fact the only reason I’m in London as I had another altercation with Lord Michaelson. Had the man not insulated...well it doesn’t matter. The judge told me that the next time I end up in the courtroom, it would not be good for me. Alas, I have not quite learned the habit of curbing my sharp tongue, mayhaps both you and Mr. Pulsifer would be kind enough to teach me. The lad is good-hearted, much like a certain angel I know,” the man complimented him, and he admitted that he was curious as to what Lord Michealson had said that had insulted Anthony so. 

His friend was not known for his temper, except when something hit a soft spot of his. And even though Anthony never admitted to it, he had many such places. Something he knew the moment he met him or instead saved his body if not his soul yet. He has tried to steer the man into God’s house, but oh how Anthony was stubborn and set in his ways. Even at the age of thirty. 

However, what he never dared tell Anthony was that he was not the only one God had allowed him to save that night. For he had been on the seaside to step inside, to end it all. He had been feeling slightly down about his calling, much like he was currently, and he needed guidance. The seaside drew him like a call by sirens. Azira had sat on that beach from dusk until moonrise, ready to walk right until the water was above his head until he saw something from the corner of his eye that changed his mind. A man was drowning, attempting to keep his head above the waves. 

Without thought or even consideration, he had waddled into the freezing water and swam out to save the man. He was rather glad that he did. Anthony had collected him from one of the greatest sins and has greatly enriched his life since. 

He rather disliked the Lord of which Anthony spoke, he was very irritating and thought himself too famous for his status, he certainly feels the Lord misliked him as well, there were no good feelings between them. However, Anthony knew better than to bring a scandal to his family.

“I know Lord Michealson is not the kindest or the easiest to get along, Anthony, but you must learn to curb your tongue or hold it long enough not to get yourself in trouble. Whatever he said could be settled in the gaming ring rather than the courts, Crowley,” The use of his friend’s surname on his tongue felt like ash and unfamiliar, in the sense that he has always been Anthony to Azira, and only Mr. Crowley in public or if he was trying to convey the seriousness of his words. 

The man’s face sneered at the use, for he too dislike it, his tone agreeing with the look on his face, “Yes, yes I’m well aware, but what he said was rather worth me hitting him in his face, the judge only dropped the charges as there was a witness that saw the whole exchange and told him that I had been provoked to protect the honor of someone who was not there to defend themselves.”

His heart twisted in irrational jealousy, he could spit with envy at the thought of his dear...well friend defending the honor of someone, he smiled anyway, “Quite right. Besides Mr. Pulsifer’s rather excellent ability to keep you from jail, do you think they are suited for one another?”

He needed to change the topic to distract the feelings choking him with the intenseness. 

“Oh, I think they are compatible as any two people of their class. I think that had Richard survived his horsing accident; she wouldn’t have to handle this on her own. As it were, Lady Device may not know that her daughter’s inheritance is in danger of being deceived based on a technicality,” he stated as if it was proper to gossip about another’s money. 

Confused, he was about to ask for clarification; when the couple seemed to have argued once more if the look of anger on both faces were any indication. 

“I’d rather like to return to Madame Shadwell’s, if it pleases anyone, I will not walk another step with him,” Miss Device’s face was somewhat, red and her eyes shone with unshed tears. 

He stepped forward and offered her his arm instead, “Of course, we’ll return you to Madame Shadwell, and I too must return to the hall, have to prepare the next sermon, the day too nice to revisit a walk. Come, my dear.”

As they walked by, he sent Anthony a helpless look, and the man himself nodded in understanding, though his expression betrayed both his annoyance and his sorrow at their time cut so very short. He too laments the latter, but there was always tomorrow.


	8. Reflections

The carriage ride was quiet, and tensions high. Anathema fisted her hands in her lap to keep from crossing her arms in an unladylike fashion. She was rather enjoying the walk, but then Mr. Pulsifer dared to declare them engaged without the proper steps that needed to be taken. The impertinence! The audacity! Not to mention the lack of manners! 

She would write to her mother and explain the situation, and her mother will agree she was sure. Madame Tracy, she knows she would approve the match though Anathema wasn’t quite sure if she even wanted to marry him anymore, even if only in name. Also, if she had asked him to marry her, she was convinced that the man would understand that no one was to know that they were engaged because he had not even courted her! The nerve of men, especially this one. It didn’t take them long to return to the Shadwell Brownstone, and Mr. O’Fell helped her from the carriage like a true gentleman, the kindly man walking her to the step and waiting until the door shut firmly. She had promised him she would come for tea if Madame Shadwell were agreeable. 

She went to the drawing-room and grabbed her paints, a blank canvas, and her piece of charcoal. She didn’t plan the picture she was going to paint, she just painted. She painted and painted and drew whatever came into her mind. She didn’t care for preciseness or even care what the final product she was. Her anger was far greater than her mind’s ability to rationalize a picture in her mind. Hours later, she emerged to wash up for dinner, a great deal cooler tempered, and a canvas full of life. She couldn’t discern what exactly she painted, but prouder of that painting than any of the others she’s painted. 

Once she was free of paint and dressed for dinner, she came down and smiled at the woman that had taken her under her wing. There was something of peace inside her after so long. Everything she had been feeling was in that painting upstairs that when they adjourned to the lounge, she picked up her book and dived readily in without lamenting at the window as she did most nights. 

Before bed, she would compose a letter to Mr. Pulsifer apologizing for her behavior today, and she could calmly explain to him what was the correct way to do things. Still, she was somewhat surprised at the excitement she had felt at his words before she allowed her anger to control her words and actions. She would think about it before bed later. 

Tonight was about peace.

\--

Opening up the chest using the key Azira had hidden, he added the note he had written to the numerous others that filled his box. Still, there was a singular item that he took from its place under the letters that were neatly tied together with a white ribbon. Five hundred and seventy-eight letters to be exact. Every message and note that Anthony had given him in the past seventeen years all accounted. Some more read than others, but all cherished and memorized. Sometimes he would unwrap them and reread the ones the ink had not started to fade or crumble. For even when the letters all turned to ash one day, nothing could take them from his heart or his mind. 

He felt the small item, feeling it’s contoured surface, its groves before it was placed underneath the letters, hidden from view. After the note was placed along with the five others, messages that he never sent, or notes he had written with his confessions that if anyone viewed them, it would ruin his and Anthony’s reputation. It would make Anthony turn away from him should he ever find out what was deep within his heart. Oh, he could not bear the thought that he could lose his dear friend, his eyes teared with the very idea!

NO! he refused to lose Anthony like he had lost his family. His mother deeply ashamed and his father proud to know he was to take the cloth, away from the family name, and never return to lay claim to the money that his family possessed. His younger brother Gabrial to take his place as heir. And not once has Gabrial written to him, though many times he had thought to draft a letter him.


End file.
